


not so ignored

by sourboy (jonashootme)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - No Wizarding World, Insecurity, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonashootme/pseuds/sourboy
Summary: Harry attends an all-boys boarding school where he meets the history professor Tom Riddle.





	not so ignored

**Author's Note:**

> hello all this is merely a practice for a different writing style and my first completed HP fic.
> 
> It's not very long, i apologise, but was mainly written for practice and to eject this idea from my brain so now I can (hopefully) focus on more important projects.
> 
> also I'm sorry for being trash at writing summaries
> 
> (disclaimer: I do not own characters and concepts Et cetera, etc...)

* * *

 

_Tom Riddle_

_Mister Riddle_

 

Professor _Riddle-_

 

No…

 

Just _**Professor**_

 

Oh, the Professor.

He was so cool and suave. Casually reclining in the club lounge. The effortless way he held the hand-rolled cigarette. Brandy glass in the other hand.

If it were anyone else they would be slouching, lazy. The alcohol making them appear uncouth.

But on the _Professor_...

His grey suit trousers were perfectly pressed, jacket folded over the back of his chair and the top few buttons of his shirt undone and he just looked so...

So…

 _Good_.

 

Harry wished he could be like that, look as good as that. Hair perfectly parted, the curls tamed and artfully wavy. There was this expression that he sometimes practiced in the mirror, one he had seen the Professor wearing once in the teacher’s lounge while the other adult’s back was turned, and then quickly replaced by a politely interested smile when they turned around again.

 

Hooded eyes, and the slight curl to the left of his lip. Like he were amused by a thought, at the expense of the other.

It was far from decorous or polite. It certainly couldn’t have been nice.

 

But it just looked so _good_.

 

Harry had only looked very tired and dopey when he had tried it in the dormitory mirror. Like he was high on opium or half asleep. It was discouraging but he would not be deterred. One day he would pin it down, or find his own version of the expression that he could use to sneer at bullies, as though their opinions were not even worth the dirt beneath Harry’s feet. Which Harry already thought they weren’t but he had difficulty expressing such in the heat of the moment.

Harry was uncertain if he wanted to _be_ the Professor, or just wanted to be able to look at him, observe him. He seriously hoped it was the former, see him as an idol. But that thought just proved the denial he supposed.

He would sigh and avert his eyes from the sight of his Professor smoking while marking student essays, or answering another’s questions. 

Harry’s favourite thing was catching the Professor smiling at some research he had pieced together. No one had ever smiled at Harry like that. And the Professor rarely smiled at anything.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

Harry had the Professor as his History lecturer and it was awfully distracting. Or, well, Harry was easily distracted.

History was his favourite subject for a few reasons and having Professor Riddle, while not being the top one, was an important contributing factor to the effort Harry put into all his assignments and class work. He may be top of the class by his grades, but Harry was also the most distracted and distracting, the biggest daydreamer, and what felt like the most disregarded student.

He was used to it, what with the childhood he had led. Constantly ignored or insulted by his relatives, beaten by his cousin and uncle. Harry was also used to being invisible by teachers and other adults. Further proof that there was something inherently wrong with him. Proof of this cropping up as unexplained events throughout his life.

 

And then, the _letter_.

 

A scholarship to the prestigious Harrow School.

Food, Board, and education. Someone - and Harry still did not know who - had noticed him, and thought he was worthy.

It was, more importantly, an escape from the Dursley’s.

 

He was still bullied by the bigger boys in his year. But there were less chores to do. Beatings were not given out at random, only for good reason in Harry’s opinion. He was no longer starved. And, most importantly, he wasn’t punished for good grades.

Now Harry was sixteen, with a few acquaintances he could do group assignments with, and only his own thoughts and daydreams to keep him company. He was still invisible.

 

Even to Professor Riddle.

 

What he wouldn’t give to be looked at longer than it took to answer a question or reprimanded for inattentiveness. Sometimes, when out wandering the school grounds, there was a prickling on the back of his neck as though he were being watched, but when harry turned to look there would be no one. The windows glossy and reflecting the dark clouds and sunlight. Vague movement of students in corridors and classrooms.

On occasion, when Harry had been brought into the staff-room to be scolded by his form head for yet _another_ mysterious event blamed on him (these occurred not infrequently and for which there was never any proof. Harry was fortunate that the students were treated more fairly than at his childhood school in Surrey), from the corner of his eye he would feel that gaze as though a presence were right beside him, breath ghosting across the sensitive skin of his neck. It would be from the direction of Professor Riddle’s desk. And when Harry turned to look he would catch the dark eyes flicker away, and chalk it up to wishful thinking.

 

But on some subconscious level, maybe, he can tell.

 

And the real desire. The hope. Is that the Professor would speak to him about it. A confrontation is something Harry would find much easier to deal with than all the guessing he is left to.

There is great uncertainty in what the Professor might want from him. Is it curiosity about the quiet and friendless boy, coming top of the Professor’s class and yet seemingly never paying attention? Always getting in trouble, being blamed for disturbances that he could not plausibly have a hand in?

Or is the interest one that Harry has only heard gossip about. The boys in his dormitory tell crude jokes about the older, boys doing secret favours for higher marks. The tarts in the lower years also approaching the Professors with offers of their service in return for a look the other way, or a relaxation of the terms of punishment set for any number of incursions.

The jokes and rumors caused Harry to blush when he heard them. To hear the title of Tart declared so brazenly and with such derision, filled him with shame. It was not Harry’s fault, and when approached by an upper-classman it is not the done thing to deny them.

Besides, now Harry does have some… _additional_ talents. Greater than some childish mutual masturbation in the dormitory showers.

 

Is this the way in which the Professor is interested?

 

He does not care, so long as he can learn the truth. Even if it turns out there is no interest at all to begin with. It would be far more welcome than this _nothing_. Harry no longer wants to be ignored.

 

But he is used to it.

* * *

 

_  
There will come a time, but Harry does not know it yet, where his Professor will take him aside. He will compliment his hard work, compliment his dedication and his **talents**._

_He will be invited into the Professor’s private quarters, the study and the parlor. The Professor will show interest in Harry’s life. It would not be genuine at first but soon the boy’s story takes hold._

_The Professor’s opinion of a directionless waif with no ambition will be discarded. A desire to unravel and understand the boy will take over. An insidious obsession._

_Harry will be thrilled with his bi-weekly talks with his favourite Professor. Everything he dreamed of come true! He will be charmed by the ever poised Professor Riddle. Lulled into a false sense of security by the clever words and carefully calculated tactility._

_And in turn Riddle is charmed - quite unintentionally on Harry’s part - quite wholeheartedly._

_Their backgrounds and upbringing are so similar (It is learned that many more things about them are too)._

_The boy is genuine and pure and good._

_And lithe and flexible and sinfully responsive. When the nails rake through his thick, glossy curls and down his spine. The flush of his skin is hot and pink, a perfect echo of his lips and mouth._

_And when this young thing is so willing to bend and kneel, bare skin and body hot and lax against the Professor’s own, something new altogether for both is learned._

_For Professor Riddle something important, and powerful, is confirmed. For Harry does not see the tea set and curios of the Professor’s room shake and rattle as though by an earthquake, as Harry is first taken. Nor does he feel the pressure and taste the electricity in the air as his sweet body is used and tasted. Or comprehend the great rush of power and light that suffuses all senses as he crests and falls into the large sure arms of the other past his own personal experience._

_But Professor Riddle does. And he knows he has found someone special, someone unique._

_Someone like him.  
_

* * *

 

But Harry does not know it yet. 

When he brushed by his Professor in the corridor and concealed the shiver that ran up his spine, he carried on.

 

Not so ignored as is thought.


End file.
